Flame of Fury

by Sharon Green

  "They couldn't have been more perfect," Rianne answered, actually managing a smile. "Harris and his staff are good enough to tend the king, but I'm glad they're here instead."

  "I'll tell them you said so," Machlin acknowledged with a smile of his own as he seated her. "They'll be very pleased."

  A moment later he was back in his own chair, but seemed to have run out of small talk. Rianne, not really in the mood for conversation, reached for the bell to begin the serving of the meal. Her fingers had only just touched the crystal handle when his hand stopped her.

  "Before we eat, there's something I have to tell you," he said, the look in those gray eyes making her insides lurch. He'd decided to tell her about that other woman… "Tonight we get a chance at the quarry, but there's a good deal more to it than that. If you think the plan is too dangerous or that you'd rather not be a part of it, just say so. I'll tell you frankly that if I'd had any other choice, I never would have considered it."

  "That sounds positively ominous," Rianne said with brows high, so relieved she felt all but light-headed. "Why don't you tell me about it, and then I'll decide."

  "Our quarry's name is George Haynes," he began, taking his hand from hers in order to pour them both tea. "If that name sounds familiar, it should. He's the designated executor of Harding's will, and you were right to consider him a definite suspect. He's also had someone in his service for years, a man who's been identified as Alfred Homand. Homand is no longer among the living."

  "Is he the one you killed after he killed Tremar?" Rianne exclaimed, suddenly excited. "That name, Homand, and what I thought I heard as a child. It wasn't 'O, and,' it was Homand!"

  "Exactly," Machlin confirmed. "It was one of the things that convinced me. But something else you told me was even more important. Do you remember Tremar's ramblings about him and masquerades and Ranelagh Pleasure Gardens? It seems our Mr. Haynes has a passion for masquerades, and never misses the really big turnouts. There's going to be one tonight, and if you agree we'll be joining him."

  "I agree," Rianne said at once, all those feelings from childhood rising up again to infuriate her. "What are we going to do?"

  "Not so fast," he warned, one hand held up toward her. "You haven't heard it all yet. We were able to identify some of Haynes's people, so we arranged for one of them to 'overhear' talk about my plans for tonight. They think I'm going to bring you to Ranelagh to identify the man I've been after for years, and once you do I'll appeal to Magistrate Fielding for justice. With your testimony the magistrate should be able to move against Haynes, but there isn't enough evidence for him to do anything without it. I haven't bothered Fielding yet, but as soon as I'm certain about my facts, I will."

  "So you're saying Haynes will be expecting us," Rianne said with a frown. "Will he really believe we mean to walk in there alone, take a look at him, and then walk out again? And how are we supposed to see his face at a masquerade? Pull the masks off everyone one by one?"

  "He's been led to believe I'll only have a couple of my men with me," Machlin answered. "More than that would draw attention to us, most probably unwelcome attention. As for the mask problem, that takes care of itself. We locate Haynes and his party during the evening by asking discreet questions, then make sure we're near him at midnight. That's when everyone unmasks together, and it won't matter to us. Haynes won't know who we are even if he sees us."

  "Yes, that does sound logical," Rianne agreed, liking the idea. "Unless we're very unlucky, it should work perfectly. That means we'll go ahead with it - "

  "Wait," Machlin interrupted, holding up one hand. "The most important part hasn't been mentioned yet. If we go, at some point I'm going to have to leave you alone, to give Mr. Haynes the impression that he can get to you. He'll certainly take the opportunity to silence you, and when he tries we can catch him at it. But that means you'll have to risk yourself, and after everything I've said about that…"

  "You feel silly making this suggestion," Rianne finished when he didn't. "Well, don't. This is too serious to worry about feeling silly, so we'll ignore it. Tell me what these masquerades are like. I've heard about them, but never in any kind of detail."

  "Actually they can be a lot of fun," Machlin answered, eyeing her as though trying to decide if she meant what she said. "Everyone dresses up in costume and goes masked, and except for rare instances you might not know who the people are around you until everyone unmasks together."

  "What about costumes for us?" Rianne asked after sipping at her tea. "I don't know about you, but I don't have any. What can I possibly make in one afternoon?"

  "You don't have to make anything," he soothed, patting her hand. "As soon as I heard about Haynes's fondness for Ranelagh, I had a feeling we might need to visit there. That's why two days ago I arranged for a costume to be made for you. I have the one I wore the last time I went, and yours will be delivered this afternoon without fail. And the way we'll recognize Haynes is simple: he'll be the one trying to kill you. I want you to keep that fact firmly in mind, so if you have to defend yourself you won't hesitate."

  "What will I be defending myself with?" Rianne asked, for some reason certain he had something specific in mind. "Does Ranelagh use torches to provide light?"

  "No, they don't," he responded with a grin. "You'll find out what I mean this afternoon. In the meanwhile, why don't you ring for lunch."

  Rianne did so, at the same time noticing his grin had faded. He was obviously worried about tonight, but she wasn't. She'd waited almost half her life for the chance to face that man again, and tonight it would finally happen. The meal was delicious as always, but once again it was a silent one. Machlin picked at his food while she ate, something he'd never done before. He was obviously distracted by very private thoughts, and finally it came to Rianne what it would mean if they were successful tonight. The chase would be over and their marriage as well, and he would return permanently to his new woman. She pushed her plate away, still calm but no longer having an appetite. When Machlin saw that, he sighed and looked straight at her.

  "I'm going to do this badly, but it has to be done," he said heavily. "I owe you a deep and sincere apology, but I can't seem to find the words. I swear I never meant to hurt you, and I hope you believe that."

  "Of course I believe it," she answered in a voice that was low but quite steady. She was finally hearing what she'd dreaded to, but she'd sworn to be strong. If only he could have been talking about something else - but there wasn't anything else. "Sometimes things turn out in a way we can't help and didn't foresee, and there's nothing we can do," she added. "It wasn't your deliberate fault, so there's no need for apology."

  "I know that, but it doesn't make me feel any better," he said, gray eyes filled with the oddest longing. "Happiness is something everyone tries to find, but it usually ends up just beyond us. If, just once, we could close our hand on it, all that effort would be worthwhile. Can you blame me for trying?"

  "No, I can't," she whispered, the calm fast disappearing. "Please excuse me, I'm not feeling very well."

  She all but ran from the room, needing the solitude of her own bedchamber to pull herself together. If he'd been talking about anything but wanting her to go, he wouldn't have mentioned trying to find happiness. That was the word the lord in that novel had used, the same thing he'd been searching for. Now Machlin had said the words and it was finally settled; all she had to do was make herself accept it.

  Bryan watched the girl disappear, the pain in her eyes making it impossible for him to follow. He'd apologized and she'd forgiven him, and now he felt worse than ever. Did she really believe he hadn't humiliated her on purpose, or did she think he'd used her lack of sophistication to teach her what he considered her proper place? It was a stupid, mindless mistake to have made, but she'd so wanted to exercise a little independence…

  "And if I had my choice, I'd never refuse her anything," he muttered, putting his hands to his eyes. "But everything I do pushes her closer to seeing how much better
off she would be without me. Dear God, why can't I make this work right? I've never failed this miserably before, and nothing's been even half as important. Please tell me what I'm doing wrong!"

  Nothing but the muted sound of others in the house came to answer him, which was perfectly fitting. Emptiness seemed to be his lot in life these days, at least where it counted. He pushed away from the table and stood, knowing he needed to get some sleep before tonight. He'd been hoping for something other than sleep, but that was out of the question now. Later, after it was all over, he would have to talk to her, but what would he say? What could he say? There had to be something besides a flat refusal to let her go, there had to be…

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dinner was early that night, of course, but Rianne was ready. If there was one thing she'd learned in life, it was that holding on to people already lost was impossible. All the tears and denial in the world couldn't bring them back, a fact she'd learned by trying. This time she'd taken a shortcut, and had simply accepted the pain without fighting it.

  But that didn't mean there wasn't any fighting to do. The cause of her worst nightmares would soon be in reach, and Rianne found it hard to wait. She meant to take out every bit of anguish she'd ever had on his miserable hide, and then she'd be able to walk away with her head held high.

  The costume Machlin had mentioned wasn't brought until he and Rianne were on their way into dinner, so Rianne didn't get a chance to see it before the meal. Jeff Banyon joined them at table, which helped quite a lot to keep the conversation on an impersonal level. All they discussed was the preparations for tonight, and where everyone would be. Machlin had plans to have two dozen of his men there, as well as Jeff, to keep watch all over Ranelagh.

  Immediately after dinner they separated to dress, and Rianne couldn't believe how eager she was to see what Machlin had chosen for her. Her maid, Meg, was already there to help, but the look on the girl's face stopped Rianne short.

  "All right, Meg, what is it?" she asked, almost afraid of what answer she'd get. "If it's as terrible as your expression says, maybe we can do something to fix it."

  "Oh, no, mum, it ain't terrible atall," the girl immediately denied. "I never dreamed nothin' could be so fine, but - Does th' sir really want you in this - this - "

  "You'd better let me see it," Rianne decided when the girl found it impossible to supply the proper word. "Maybe a mistake's been made, and they sent the wrong - Oh, my…"

  Rianne looked at the costume being held up, for the moment sharing Meg's loss for words. It was made of samite, that incredible silver material that glowed like a polished sword blade, but was still soft and silky and clinging. It was a gown of sorts, but the sort seen on drawings of ancient Greeks or Romans. Sleeveless and collarless, it was almost bosomless as well, with a slim length of braided silver obviously supplied as a girdle. But the worst thing about it was its length, along with its very uneven hem. It was so high in front -

  "Every one of 'em, mum, they'd all see your limbs!" Meg blurted, shocked into using terms commonly excluded from polite conversation. "An' see there, in th' bottom of th' box. Sandals, no less, and not one but two weapons! What can th' sir be thinkin' of?"

  As soon as Rianne saw the small silver bow and arrows, she was hit by inspiration. "Diana, Goddess of the Hunt, that's what he's thinking of," she exclaimed. "What would be more appropriate? And I think I also understand what happened to the gown. Meg, hold it up in front of you."

  The girl did so, and Rianne immediately saw she was right. If Meg had put on the gown it would have come down easily to her ankles, showing little beyond a teasing amount of foot. Whoever had made the costume couldn't possibly have been told how tall Rianne was, and Machlin had been too busy handing out orders and keeping secrets to bring her in for a fitting. If she wore that gown, the scandal would take a year to die down…

  And yet, why not? Rianne stared at the costume, having a fairly good idea how she would look in it. The idea of scandal didn't bother her; what did bother her was the fact that Machlin had chosen another woman over her. He ought to be given a really solid reason for doing that … and maybe a regret or two when he saw her … reasons and regrets that couldn't be forgotten as quickly as she herself…

  "Meg, help me out of these clothes," she said, the decision already made. "I have a masquerade to attend." The girl was speechless with shock, but she did as she was told. Rianne took everything off, knowing how clearly every line of her body would show beneath the samite. And she wanted it to be body, not corset and lacings. So he would decide she wasn't good enough for him, would he? They'd see how easily "good enough" was defined.

  Once the costume was on, Meg seemed struck even more speechless. Rianne studied her reflection in the mirror, seeing how the samite, bound between her breasts and around her waist by the girdle cord, breathed with her like silver flesh. The gown strained over her breasts and hips, flowing like spring water from the mountains, down to a place in front just below her knees. It fell lower to the sides and back, but in front her high-laced silver sandals could easily be seen. Not to mention her legs.

  "That should do it," Rianne murmured, glad she'd decided to also free her hair. It burned above the gown like soft and flowing fire, another point to be added to the eventual talk. To appear in public with her hair unbound and uncovered? Indignity would be piled on affront, and all of it would be delicious.

  Her feathered silver mask lay in a box of its own, the most gracefully beautiful thing Rianne had ever seen. She was about to put it on when she remembered the silver bow and arrows, and decided to see about them first. Seeing was easier without a mask, and she would have to -

  She stopped short with her hand extended into the box, only right now remembering Meg had said two weapons. Beside the toy bow with tiny arrows attached lay something that was quite real. Silver scabbarded and silver-hilted, the slender blade was of good steel. Rianne assured herself of that when she drew it from its sheath, and that was when Machlin's earlier comment made sense. If the need arises defend yourself, he'd said, and now she knew with what.

  Once the sword was resheathed, Rianne discovered that the scabbard's lockets could be attached to her girdle with no trouble at all. She'd wondered why the girdle cord had been long enough to wrap around extra times, and now she knew: to make it strong enough to support the weight of a real sword. She let Meg help her into the voluminous gray cloak she'd chosen, put on the mask and raised the cloak's hood, picked up the toy bow to complete her costume, and then she was ready.

  Machlin and Jeff Banyon waited downstairs in the hall, and they watched her descend the stairs slowly enough to keep the cloak from billowing open. She didn't want her surprise unveiled until they reached the Gardens.

  Machlin wore what looked like golden breast armor over a red-skirted tunic, a heavy sword at his left and a golden helmet-mask as well as golden boots. The armor wasn't metal, she saw as soon as she got closer, but a heavy cloth gilded in some way to make it look real. He was obviously supposed to be Mars, God of War. Banyon was robed down to his sandals in white, sporting a long white beard with hair to match, as well as carrying a trident and net. He was probably supposed to be Neptune, God of the Seas. Would the entire pantheon turn out tonight?

  "Are you sure you're feeling better?" Machlin asked when she joined them. "Earlier you weren't, and I want you to tell me if that hasn't changed."

  "As a matter of fact, I'm feeling marvelous," she answered with a smile, finding his sudden concern ridiculous. "Isn't it time we left?"

  Their driver came to the door then, ending the need for further conversation. Rianne arranged herself carefully in the carriage, her cloak well overlapped, then she stared out the window with the pretense of sight-seeing. In reality she was lost in anticipating the upcoming confrontation, and saw nothing outside the coach. One of the men said something about it being possible to reach Ranelagh by boat as well as by coach, but all the rest of their conversation went by her.

  An
d then they were there. The rotunda all but glittered in the light of torches, and theirs wasn't the only carriage discharging passengers. More than a few of the new arrivals were cloaked, and once they were inside Rianne saw why. They each took a great deal of pleasure revealing themselves to those they'd arrived with and then, with masks in place and laughter all around, they went to join those revelers already here.

  "You can give your cloak to the servant," Machlin said, bringing her attention back to him. He and Banyon were looking around the rotunda, as though checking for familiar faces.

  "Madam?" the servant behind her said, echoing Machlin in fewer words. It was time to give up her cloak, something she'd thought would be easier. Well, easy or not it had to be done, with or without a deep breath first. Rianne took a breath, removed her hood and unhooked the cloak, then let the servant take it.

  At first, with her two companions looking elsewhere, there was no reaction whatsoever. They were the only ones still near the entrance, and the servants had to be the sort who could watch a beheading without batting an eye. And then Banyon turned to her, apparently intending to say something, but the words were never uttered. He froze with light eyes wide and staring, what she could see of his expression filled with such incredulity that Rianne wanted to giggle.

  "Is that a real trident, Mr. Banyon?" she asked instead, forcing her voice lower than normal so that she might sound sultry. "If it is, you don't by any chance know how to use it?"

  "It - ah - so happens I do," Banyon answered after clearing his throat. "I've made a study of … ancient weapons…"

  The way his voice trailed off must have caught Machlin's attention. The big man turned and also began to speak, but for the second time the words were lost. More than incredulity flamed from gray eyes behind a mask of gold; for an instant demanding desire burned there, so strong Rianne was about to step back from it. And then it was gone, replaced by anger, and she realized she'd probably imagined the desire.